


Little Bird in Flight

by GuenVanHelsing



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Kinda, Temporary Character Death, The Priest Brothers Theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22553245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuenVanHelsing/pseuds/GuenVanHelsing
Summary: What happens when the youngest Rowdy is... left alone?
Relationships: Amanda Brotzman/Martin, The Rowdy 3 & Vogel
Comments: 7
Kudos: 51
Collections: DGHDA Valentine's Mini Bang 2020





	Little Bird in Flight

**Author's Note:**

> special shoutout to my wonderful artist @kimbus-the-whimbus for [the cutest art ever](https://kimbus-the-whimbus.tumblr.com/post/190840757932/kimbus-the-whimbus-my-art-entry-for-the-dghda) she drew for me <3

Vogel stamped on the brakes, the van skidding to a halt at the red light, wheels screeching in protest, and Vogel patted the wheel awkwardly with one hand. “Sorry,” he whispered, and the van grumbled, but rolled on when he stomped on the gas as the light went green. 

He didn’t know how Martin made it look so effortless, like he and the Oh No Mobile were  _ linked, _ somehow, like it was responding to his thoughts and not his hands on the wheel. It wasn’t that easy for  _ Vogel, _ anyway, and the van squeaked and groaned under her rumbling to let her unhappiness be known. 

“I’m  _ not Martin,” _ said Vogel, when the thud of the bass skipped as the van rattled over the uneven pavement on the back road. “I don’t know what I’m  _ doing.” _

Martin wasn’t there to help him. 

Neither was Amanda. 

None of them were. 

The van’s brakes squealed, and Vogel swung the wheel to pull over to the side of the road — mostly, at least — and leapt out of the van, boots scrabbling in the dusty earth. 

“Rapunzel!” he yelled, and the corgi zoomed over to him at once, bum wiggling in excitement and jumping up to lap at his face when he knelt down. “You okay, Punzie?” 

Rapunzel whined, lapping at his face a couple more times, and nosed at his pockets, probably looking for a treat. She didn’t  _ look _ hurt, perfectly mobile like usual, but Vogel still patted her all over to check her out as best he could. 

He wasn’t a vet. 

He wasn’t the boss. 

He wasn’t— 

He was just Vogel. 

Vogel pulled Rapunzel onto his lap and hugged her, hiding his face in her furry little ruff, and let her lick at his ear all she liked. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you,” he mumbled into her fur, but she just licked his ear some more. “C’mon, Punzie, let’s keep going.” 

He couldn’t give up yet. 

—

He found Finn and Cheep in a cardboard box, scratching at the walls of it and meowing, the cardboard ragged and soggy from sitting partway in a puddle in the ditch he found it in, and they clawed their way up his sleeves the second he reached in to pull them out. 

“Hi, little dudes,” he said, and Rapunzel barked happily from the idling van, and the kittens  _ miaow _ ed in his ears as they tried to curl up between his neck and the collar of his jacket, their sharp little claws pricking at his skin. “You wanna come home, then?” 

A raspy little tongue dragged across the skin right behind his ear, and he giggled despite himself, patting the curly hair of the sheep cat and cradling both cats carefully to his shoulders as he hurried back to the van. 

“Here ya go,” he said quietly, carefully dumping both kittens onto a towel that he vaguely remembered Amanda using to dry her hair on last time it rained. It was dry enough again to pat down the kittens, their fur sticking up messily as they wandered around and rubbed themselves against his jeans. Rapunzel jumped down from the front passenger seat and ran over to lick the kittens, and before long the three animals were cuddled together on the damp towel and one of Cross’s discarded shirts. 

It was a little like having his family together again. 

Just a little. 

At least he wasn’t alone anymore. 

—

Fluffernutter was waiting under the eaves of a little shop, soaking wet and miserable-looking until Vogel squeezed the van past a poorly parked volkswagen and Fluffernutter’s tail started wagging when he pulled up next to her. 

“Hey,” said Vogel, shoving the door open and kicking it wide enough for her to jump up into the van, onto his lap for a moment before she launched herself onto the passenger seat, tail wagging and splattering water everywhere. Rapunzel started barking, and so did Fluffernutter, and Vogel yanked the door shut and kept driving. 

The whole van smelled like wet dog and wet cat, and the stale smell of spilled beer, and Vogel cracked the window to let in some fresh air. Even with the dogs barking and the yowls of the cats in response and the music pounding loud, the van was still too quiet. 

Too empty. 

Vogel kept driving. 

—

“You can help me, right?” said Vogel, but the van didn’t answer, just sat in silence, and he sighed, sitting down in the dirt in front of it, and leaned forward to rest his head against the still-warm grill. “I need you to help me, man.” 

The Oh No Mobile rumbled. 

“I need you to help me,” muttered Vogel, banging his head on the stupid grill of the stupid van. “You’re all I’ve got, okay?” 

Fluffernutter whined, snuffling her cold nose against his neck, and he flung an arm around her fluffy barrel sides. She was warm, the ground under his butt was cold, and the grill of the van was cooling off, too. 

“I don’t know what to do,” said Vogel, and Fluffernutter leaned into his side, almost enough to knock him over, and he leaned back to keep from falling into the dirt. “I don’t know what to  _ do, _ Fluffers.”

Vogel hadn’t been this alone in— 

...years. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, and turned his face to mash it into Fluffernutter’s fur, to hide the tears he couldn’t stop from streaming down his face. 

The van’s engine cranked over, the metal grill vibrating slightly under his head, and Vogel sat up, frowning. 

“You know where to go?” he said, and the van sat, waiting, the bass thumping steadily. Vogel let go of Fluffernutter, and she got to her feet, tail wagging slightly, and Rapunzel came over to sit next to her, both of them watching him. “Do  _ you _ know where to go?” 

The dogs didn’t answer, just watched him. 

“Okay, then,” he muttered, and Vogel stood, whistling to the dogs, and made sure both kittens were snoozing in the back before getting behind the wheel. “Let’s… go?” 

The van rumbled, and Vogel swung the wheel around and stamped on the gas to get them back on the road. 

— 

It was raining when Priest found them. 

Only this time, when the big black van drove into the parking lot next to the Oh No Mobile, Vogel was ready. 

He didn’t go for Priest, not like the bosses had, no — he waited, skirting around the blonde in the dark and the rain, and took down his masked minions instead, with Martin’s baseball bat until the wood split and then he drained the rest of them of energy until he was shaking with it. 

_ Then _ he crept back through the dark and the rain, and went after Mr. Priest. 

He didn’t try to feed on him, he already knew that wouldn’t work— 

—he’d tried, after all, and so had Gripps, before he’d been— 

Vogel shook his head, swiping wet clumps of hair out of his eyes, and swung the broken handle of his bat at Priest. 

Priest knocked it aside with a laugh, leather vest —  _ Martin’s _ vest — slick and shiny in the rain, the metal on it glinting in the light of the van’s headlights. “Is that your strategy, boy?” said Priest, and laughed again when Vogel seethed and chucked the other end of the bat at him — it, too, was knocked aside onto the wet pavement. “I don’t need an army to bring you in, let alone a squad of men.” 

“I don’t need a strategy,” said Vogel, and wiped rainwater from his face, not taking his eyes off of Priest. “I’m going to kill you.” 

Saying it out loud was different than having the beat of those words fluttering against his heart, trapped in his chest, and Vogel grinned, although it was more of a grimace. 

“I’m going to  _ kill _ you,” he said again, and the smile slid off of Priest’s scarred face, and Vogel lunged at him, swinging the crowbar he’d grabbed while Priest had been distracted by the broken bat. 

It wasn’t a very long fight. 

All Vogel had to do was take Priest down, was to hit him hard enough in the leg that Priest would stumble, so Vogel could kick him hard enough in the knee to get him down the rest of the way, and plant a boot on the blonde’s chest and press the straight claw of the crowbar jammed up under Mr. Priest’s chin. 

The rain was dripping down his face, strands of hair falling in front of his eyes, but Vogel didn’t push them out of the way, just glared down at Priest and kept a firm grip on his crowbar. 

“You ain’t gonna hurt anyone else,” he hissed, leaning down on the crowbar enough to make Priest choke. “You’re gonna die here.” 

Priest  _ laughed, _ his throat bobbing under the claw of the crowbar. “You can’t kill me, Jacob Vogel.” 

“You’re gonna die here,” said Vogel, “because I’m gonna kill you.” 

Priest tipped his chin up, and Vogel planted his foot more firmly on the blonde’s chest so he didn’t accidentally skewer him. “You aren’t a killer, boy. You never were.” 

“I ain’t just gonna kill you,” snarled Vogel. “I’m gonna finish what whoever started on your face and peel it off, and  _ then _ I’m gonna kill you.” 

“So cruel,” murmured Priest, grinning up at him from the pavement, even with the rainwater dripping on his face, mixing with the blood dripping down his throat where Vogel’s crowbar had pricked his flesh. “Who taught you to be so cruel, little bird?

“You did,” said Vogel flatly. “When you  _ killed my family.” _

“Your family is waiting for you, Jacob,” said Priest with that awful grin. “Don’t you want to go home to them?” 

_ “You killed them!” _ yelled Vogel. “You  _ killed my family!” _ He pressed the crowbar firmly to Priest’s throat, grinning viciously as the blonde choked. “You taught me this,” he said quietly. “You taught me to be this cruel, Mr. Priest. I won’t let you be that cruel to anyone else ever again.” 

Priest grabbed the crowbar and wrenched it from Vogel’s grasp, tossing it aside and sitting up, grabbing Vogel’s leg and  _ twisting _ it, sending Vogel tumbling to the pavement with a shout. “You should’ve just killed me when you had the chance,  _ little bird,” _ said Priest, and drew his gun. “I told you, Jacob, your family is waiting for you. Don’t you want to see them again?” 

Priest leveled the gun on Vogel. 

Vogel didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to die yet— 

Priest screeched, hand flying up before the gun went off, too loud in the rain, and Rapunzel had her teeth sunk into the ankle of his boot. “Get off me, you mutt—!” 

Vogel scrambled to his feet, stumbling when he lunged for the crowbar, and swung it through the air to send it end over end at Priest. 

The hooked end of it struck him right between the eyes, and Rapunzel let go of his boot and leapt out of the way as Priest crumpled to the ground in a heap. 

The corgi nosed at him, then trotted over to Vogel, licking his hand when he put it down to scratch her head. “Good girl,” he whispered, and went over to pick up the crowbar again, wiping the wet hair out of his face and approaching the prone form of Priest. 

The blonde was breathing, blood dripping down his face where the crowbar had gashed him across the forehead, making a lopsided cross out of the mark already there, and more blood at his throat, but he wasn’t dead. 

Vogel raised the crowbar like a bat, hooked end at the ready, and— 

—lowered it to his side. 

He couldn’t kill him. 

Priest had killed his family, and Vogel couldn’t goddamn well  _ kill Priest. _

Vogel let out a sob, wiping his face on his sleeve, and Rapunzel whined at his feet. “I can’t do it,” he whispered, and she looked up at him with dark eyes, patient and clueless.  _ “I can’t do it!” _ screamed Vogel, and Rapunzel whined, Fluffernutter barking in the van, and Priest didn’t stir. “I can’t do this without you guys.” 

The Rowdies didn’t answer, because they weren’t  _ there. _

Priest had killed them, and nothing Vogel did could bring them back. 

— 

_ A few days previous… _

It was raining. 

Martin had stopped the van at a rather dingy auto parts store, and was having a smoke while he pried the useless wiper off the van and installed a new one, the rain plastering his pale hair to his head. Vogel was so, so sleepy, on the tail end of a sugar high that had turned into a sugar crash after he, Amanda, and Beastie had dared each other to see who could eat the most Skittles. 

Vogel had lost to Beastie — she really was a bottomless pit when it came to food — but at least he’d eaten more of them than the Boss, so he could gloat a little over the can of beer he’d won from her as she cackled when all three of them kept burping. He’d taken the front passenger seat from Cross when the taller Rowdy had gotten up for a new beer, and he’d put his boots up on the dashboard, just because he could.

Vogel didn’t hear the gunshot. 

He just saw Martin slump forward, blood splattering the windshield between his boots, before the blonde slid out of sight in front of the van. 

Someone screamed. 

It might’ve been Vogel. 

—

_ Back to the present… _

Vogel left Mr Priest laying in the rain. He wasn’t Blackwing, he didn’t need to hide bodies from the authorities, and—

Priest wasn’t dead, anyway. 

Vogel couldn’t kill him. 

He’d had Priest under his boot and he couldn’t fucking  _ kill him. _

He hadn’t been able to kill him. 

And his family was still dead. 

Vogel had taken back Martin’s vest, though, the black one that Priest had stolen. It was too big for him, but it still smelled like cigarette smoke and  _ Martin, _ and Vogel kept it. 

It fit a little better if he wore it over his own jacket, so he did that. 

It made him feel a little less alone, at least. 

Vogel kept driving.

— 

“Do  _ you _ know where we’re going?” said Vogel, sitting in the grass while Rapunzel and Fluffernutter sniffed around and took care of business. Cheep was asleep in the pocket of Martin’s vest, warmly snoring away, and Finn was sprawled in the dirt next to him, patiently waiting for the dogs to finish. 

Rapunzel tilted her head, then went back to sniffing the dandelions. Fluffernutter wandered over to sniff at his offered hand, but had no advice, either. 

“I don’t know what to do,” whispered Vogel, dropping his head, hugging his knees to his chest, careful not to squash Cheep. “I don’t know wh—” He choked back a sob, and lifted his head enough to wipe his eyes. 

The Oh No Mobile rumbled to life. 

The dogs’ heads lifted, and Vogel frowned, scrambling to his feet. 

The van sat, empty, rumbling. 

Waiting. 

“Okay,” said Vogel slowly, and bent down to scoop up Finn. “Okay,” he said again, moving around to the driver’s side door, which creaked loudly when he yanked it open. 

There was no one in the van. 

The keys were on the seat where he’d left them. 

But the Oh No Mobile’s engine was rumbling. 

“Okay,” said Vogel again, and whistled to the dogs. “Let’s go.” 

— 

The Oh No Mobile took him to Blackwing. 

Not the Blackwing he’d known, or the one Cross had told him about, after they’d been reunited in Wendimoor, but Vogel knew it was Blackwing the moment he saw the barbed wire fence, the white walls of the bare building. 

This was Blackwing. 

“Why did you bring me here?” said Vogel, but the Oh No Mobile didn’t answer, just sat where it had parked itself amidst the endless lines of nondescript black vans. “I don’t like this place.” 

Rapunzel hopped out when he opened the door, looking back at him as if to say  _ You coming? _

Vogel did not want to go into Blackwing. 

Last time he’d gone into Blackwing, it had taken him  _ years _ to get out, and this time he didn’t have his Rowdy brothers to help him. 

\--

_ Previously… _

He swung his legs down, scrambling for his little league bat, and somebody was yelling, and Gripps was dragging Vogel backwards into the back of the van, shoving him down low as more shots rang out, loud in the deafening silence that was the van. 

Cross roared, lunging out of the van with Amanda on his heels, and Vogel heard the shots. 

Heard the thuds, the silence. 

“Down, beastie boyos,” hissed Rainbow when the dogs went to follow the other Rowdies out of the van, and Vogel tried to get up, legs tangled in a blanket someone hadn’t folded after their nap, and then there was more blood splattering the inside of the van, and gloved hands dragging a limp Beastie from the van. 

The dogs were howling. 

Vogel didn’t know where the kittens were. 

He just knew it was too quiet, too fucking quiet, and there were more gunshots, and then something slammed into the side of the van, and the van skidded backwards and started to roll. 

Vogel screamed. 

If anyone heard him, they didn’t answer, and when the van slid into a ditch and slammed to a halt in the mud, Vogel’s head slammed against the bench, and everything went black. 

\--

_ Back in the present…at Blackwing... _

He didn’t even know why he was  _ back, _ but the van didn’t start when he tried to twist the key in the ignition, staying stubbornly silent, so Vogel left the key sitting there and got out. 

Blackwing was quiet. 

Vogel remembered it like that, when he hadn’t been in the room with his Rowdies, or in the rooms for the tests when the scientists spoke coldly to each other and never to him, and it was unnerving that the same silence permeated this building, just like it had in the one where he’d done most of his growing up. 

Finn purred, rubbing against his legs, and Vogel hastily scooped her up against his chest. 

“Hey, we gotta be careful,” he said, and she rubbed her face against his chin. Fluffernutter oozed past him, squeezing between the van and his body with surprising speed for such a big dog. “Fluffers—” 

Fluffernutter and Rapunzel took off, and Vogel cursed under his breath and ran after them, cradling Finn securely to his chest. 

Somehow they weren’t caught in the first three minutes inside the building — whatever luck of the universe was guiding the dogs down the hall, Vogel kept right on the trail of their fluffy butts, because he did  _ not _ want to get caught. 

“Where are we?” he hissed, when Rapunzel stopped outside a door marked with a symbol he vaguely recognized. “That’s— what are we  _ doing _ here?” 

Rapunzel scratched at the door, and whined, and Vogel muttered another curse and shoved the door open. The corgi darted inside, and the fluorescent lights in the ceiling flickered on. 

Someone was sitting on a folding chair in the center of the room, and looked up when Vogel grabbed the door to keep it from falling shut on them all. “You’re not Ken.” 

“Who’s Ken?” said Vogel, and the woman shrugged. 

“I thought he was my friend,” she said, in that rasping voice. “But then he wasn’t. The universe said so.” 

“You know what the universe wants?” 

She shrugged again. “Sometimes,” she said. “Sometimes I don’t listen, and then bad things happen.” 

“Bad things are always happening,” said Vogel. “Sometimes you just gotta be badder than the bad things.” He hesitated, then said, “Does the universe tell you what it wants  _ other _ people to do?” 

The woman tilted her head. “It isn’t telling me I should kill you, that’s all.” 

Vogel made a face. “Well, I don’t wanna kill you, either.” 

The woman grinned. “You can’t,” she said, almost cheerfully. “The universe doesn’t let me get hurt.” Her smile faded. “Unless I don’t listen.” Then she smiled again. “You here to bust me out?” 

“I don’t know,” said Vogel, and pointed to Rapunzel, who was sitting next to the woman’s booted feet. “She brought me here.” His brow furrowed. “The van brought me here, but she brought me  _ here.” _

The woman shrugged, leaning down to skritch Rapunzel behind the ears. “She was Ken’s dog, once.” 

Vogel hadn’t known that. He also still didn’t know who Ken  _ was… _ although, he also wasn’t sure he  _ wanted _ to. “You wanna leave?” he said, leaning harder on the door that really,  _ really _ wanted to swing shut on him. 

“It’s boring here,” she said, and got up, the dogs following her to the door. “Where you going?” 

“I don’t know,” said Vogel again, and the strange lady shrugged. “Do we— know each other?” 

“You’re Incubus, right?” 

Vogel wrinkled his nose. “I’m a Rowdy.” 

“My name’s Bart.” Bart let the door swing shut behind them, and Vogel glanced hurriedly up and down the hall to see if anyone was coming. “Why are you carrying a cat?” 

“You wanna hold her?” Vogel held up Finn, and Bart stared at him for a moment, then reached out for the kitten — Finn stretched out her legs extra long, claws spread for a moment until Bart was close enough for the kitten to grasp at her jacket. Bart cuddled Finn close, and the kitten purred loudly. “We should g—” 

“Hey!” shouted a voice, and Vogel tensed as a man in a white jacket stepped around the corner and stared at them. “The hell you doing? Project Marzanna, get back in your room!” 

“Nah,” said Bart, and that name,  _ Project Marzanna, _ that sounded familiar to Vogel. Vaguely. Distantly. “Universe says I shouldn’t be here anymore.” 

The man in the white jacket raised a gun, and Bart threw Finn at him. 

_ “Hey—” _ began Vogel, the word breaking off on his tongue when the kitten twisted in the air, bright blue crackling energy leaping forth from her little black body, and the man in the white jacket didn’t even have time to scream before the outline of a hammerhead shark bit him in half. 

“Wow,” said Bart, as the glowing shark retreated and Finn landed on the bloody legs of the dead man. “Did you know she could do that?” 

Vogel hurried over and scooped up Finn, who purred and left a bloody pawprint on Martin’s vest, and leaned around the corner, squinting. “Nope,” he said, and waved to Bart. “Let’s keep going.” 

“Go where?” she said, reaching out, and Vogel handed her Finn again. 

Vogel didn’t know how to answer that, so he just shrugged, and followed Rapunzel. At least the corgi seemed to know where she was going, trotting along the hallways with her big ears pricked forward with some sort of intent to her chosen path, and Fluffernutter similarly alert, right on her heels. Bart followed them. 

“Are you looking for them?” said Bart in a stage whisper, when they stopped to peer around a corner, the dogs waiting patiently at their feet. 

“For who?” said Vogel, and Bart raised her eyebrows at him. 

“The other Rowdy Three, or whatever.” 

Vogel shook his head slowly, trying to take a deep breath to combat the constricting of his chest. “They’re— gone.” 

“Oh.” 

Vogel pointed to a door, further down the hall. “That’s where they kept us.” Well, at the other one, they had — he wouldn’t mistake that four-pronged symbol and the red line on the wall anywhere. 

Only— 

They hadn’t been kept here. 

So why was their symbol on that door? 

“You gonna look, or what?” said Bart. 

Vogel marched over, and yanked open the door. 

The room was empty. There were three cages, the kind that barred them down tight so they couldn’t escape, and they were empty, hanging like empty coffins on their chains. 

No, there were  _ four _ cages. The last chain was hanging low into the pit, and when Vogel leaned into the room — not stepping in, just leaned in, holding onto the doorframe — he could see the top of the cage, hanging empty below. 

Vogel backed up, patting the pocket of the vest to make sure Cheep was securely there — she beeped in annoyance, and reached up one teeny paw to smack at his hand. 

Vogel closed the door. “They’re not there,” he said, and Bart shrugged. “They’re not  _ here.” _

“How do you know that?” 

“Because they’re  _ dead,” _ snapped Vogel, his voice louder than he’d meant it to be, and he flinched, half expecting the loud recording in the walls to shriek at him for being too noisy. 

Too  _ rowdy. _

“They’re all dead,” he whispered. 

“How do you know that?” said Bart again. “You kill them, Vogel?” 

_ “No! _ I just— Blackwing found us— they  _ shot _ them—” Vogel shook his head. “I  _ saw _ them get shot.” 

\--

_ Previously… _

It was still raining when Vogel woke up, when he kicked the blanket off of his legs and scrambled up the tilted floor of the van to get to the front, and it was still raining when he fought his way out of the van past the door that was jammed shut — he cranked the window down and crawled out when he couldn’t kick the door open. 

The parking lot was empty, and it was raining, and there was blood everywhere, and Vogel was alone. 

Martin’s glasses were laying on the pavement, and Vogel picked them up, one of the ear pieces giving up the ghost and dropping back to the pavement. 

One of the lenses was broken. 

The other one had blood on it, and Vogel wiped it off carefully on his shirt. 

He didn’t know a lot about health or biology or whatever the fuck it was he missed in schools he didn’t go to, but he knew a bad amount of blood when he saw it. 

And Blackwing always cleaned up their bodies, but not the blood. 

The rain would wash it away, anyway. 

Vogel wiped his face on his sleeve, and went back to the van. He put Martin’s broken glasses in the glove compartment, with all the miscellaneous stuff they didn’t want to lose, and sat in the van for a moment, listening to the rain. 

“Can’t do shit here,” he muttered, and got out of the van again. 

—

A guy from the auto parts store had a tow truck, and he helped Vogel drag the van back out of the ditch. He didn’t say anything about the faded splotches of blood on his parking lot, and Vogel didn’t bring it up, just thanked the very, very tall man for his help and gave him a wad of the cash he found under the driver’s seat in the van. The man gave him a few bills back, and seemed pleased enough, so Vogel got in the van and— 

Vogel stared at the wheel. At the keys, still in the ignition. 

This wasn’t— 

He wasn’t supposed to sit there. 

_ Martin _ was supposed to sit there, or Manda. Not  _ Vogel. _

Vogel took a deep breath, tried to remember the hazy memories of teenaged-Vogel listening to younger-Martin explain the bare basics of driving to him, and reached for the keys. 

The Oh No Mobile rumbled to life under him, the roar of the engine quieter than he remembered. 

The wheel didn’t feel right under his hands. 

“I don’t know where to go,” he whispered. 

The van rumbled, and Vogel drove. 

\--

_ Back to the present... _

“You see ‘em die?” 

Vogel stared at her, Martin’s blood splashing across the windshield bright in his memory, and slowly shook his head, Finn’s claws poking into his collar in protest of him moving. “They got shot.” 

“So they ain’t dead, maybe.” Bart patted Fluffernutter’s head, and the dog leaned against her leg, tail wagging slightly. “You wanna find ‘em?” 

Vogel hadn’t dared to even hope his Rowdies had survived that attack— 

All that blood— 

_ He hadn’t seen their bodies— _

He hadn’t seen the— 

“You really think so?” he whispered, and Bart shrugged. 

“We can look, can’t we?” she said. 

Vogel whistled to the dogs, hoping Bart didn’t notice the trembling in his hands as he cradled Finn closer to his chest. “We sure fuckin’ can. I—” He stopped, frowning, as Cheep wriggled in his pocket, stretching out her tiny little legs, and hopped down to the floor. “...Cheep?” 

Cheep ignored him, shaking out her legs and trotting off down the hall, her pointy little tail raised toward the ceiling, and the dogs followed her without hesitation. 

Bart laughed. “Let’s go, Vogel.” 

Vogel didn’t hesitate to follow her. 

Cheep led them through the labyrinth of hallways, pausing to sniff or sit and lick her teeny paws at times, opportunistically at times when soldiers were heading up the hallway and just barely missed crossing paths with them, and waddled over to a closed door, sprawling onto the shiny floor on her back and stretching out her paws with a loud  _ miaaaooow. _

Vogel frowned, bending down to scoop up the kitten, and she rolled out from under his hands just as Finn leapt to the floor, too, scooting over to paw at the door. 

“Hush, you,” said Bart when Fluffernutter whined, and added, “You gonna open it?” 

Vogel reached for the door handle. 

Hesitated. 

Finn rubbed up against his boot, arching her back and purring, and Cheep patted at the door again, the dogs waiting patiently at Bart’s feet. 

Vogel opened the door— 

—and the feeling of  _ family belonging home home home _ struck him right in the chest, hard enough to make him gasp, because he wasn't alone anymore, he could  _ feel  _ them, and there they were, his rowdies, leaping up to run and hug him and pat the excited dogs. 

“Good  _ girls, _ yes you  _ are,” _ crooned Amanda, scooping up the kittens and pressing a kiss to both of their little heads, grinning as their teeny paws batted at her face. “You came right to us, you good,  _ good _ girls!” 

And suddenly the unerring directional sense of Cheep made  _ so _ much more sense. 

“You’re the  _ best,” _ said Vogel, squeezing Amanda in a hug, careful of the kittens, and as soon as he let go Gripps dragged him back into a big embrace. “Gripps!” 

They were okay. 

They were all okay. They were a little bruised, a little stiff, and Vogel could see bandages peeking out from under their jumpsuits, but they were  _ okay— _

“Found us, little bird!” said Gripps, and Vogel’s breath caught in his chest. 

Vogel pulled back from Gripps’s bear hug, fingers curling into the white fabric of his jumpsuit. “Where’s Martin?” he whispered, an awful shaking taking hold of his hands again, at the thought that maybe Martin might be dead after all—

"Took him away," said Cross. "Dunno where. Can't feel him." He gestured at his head, and his heart, and Vogel knew what he meant. “We’ll find him.” 

The taller Rowdy’s confidence in that statement had Vogel’s fingers tightening on his grip on Gripps, and Gripps patted his hands gently. “We’ll find him,” he said quietly, and Amanda nodded, her face grim in the kind of way it was when she had a plan, and Vogel slowly let go as the dogs pushed their way past him to greet the others. 

“You plannin’ on camping out here?” said Bart, still standing in the doorway, and the three psychic vampires all looked to her, eyes glinting a weird flash of blue, and Vogel blinked, and it was gone. 

“Nah, marshmallow free,” said Cross, and patting Fluffernutter’s head. “‘Cept you, girly-girl.” She let out a mid-sized  _ boof, _ and he shushed her. “Find and seek?” 

“Yeah,” said Amanda, patting Vogel’s chest — his borrowed  _ vest, _ he realized — and set Finn on his shoulders, keeping Cheep for herself. “Let’s go get our Martin.” She made for the door, and stopped, when Bart just stared at her. “You’re coming with us, right?” 

Bart shrugged. “I guess.” Her eyes narrowed. “You know Ken?” 

“The director?” Amanda snorted. “We aren’t  _ friendly, _ if that’s what you’re asking. Do  _ you _ know Ken?” 

“We were friends, once,” said Bart. “Not anymore.” She looked down at her hands, fingers flexing. “I think I’m supposed to kill him.” 

“Let’s get Martin, then you can kill Ken if you want to,” said Amanda, and when she turned back to look at them, her eyes were  _ weird, _ the blackness spread from the center of her eyes in a weird shape. “Let’s roll, boys!” 

There was no subtle way to barrel through Blackwing when there were so  _ many _ of them, and when the alarms began to blare and the flashing lights started, Amanda threw out her hand and  _ squeezed, _ squeezed and squeezed until it felt like she was squeezing all the air out of Vogel’s lungs, and then— 

The buzzing stopping. The  _ lights _ stopped, and so did the alarms, and Amanda opened her hand. “Better,” she muttered, and held up Cheep. “Okay, baby girl, let’s see what you’ve got.” Cheep squeaked indignantly at being manhandled up into the air, paws scrabbling, and Amanda grinned.  _ “Martin.” _

And she pulled Cheep down close to her again, rubbing the kitten’s head soothingly, and took off running down the hall. 

Vogel followed her, and the others followed him, Rapunzel overtaking him in moments, and Cross vaulted past him to take down a Blackwing guard who had started toward Amanda. 

“Thanks!” she called, already a dozen strides ahead of them, and Vogel hurried to catch up with her. 

“Boss—” Vogel reached for her, grabbing her sleeve and yanking her back— 

__ _ —Boss— _

Pale blue sparks raced up his arm, and Amanda spun into his arms, the bullets from the guns of the incoming guards streaking past her to smash into the wall. 

_ —pain— _

“There,” said Amanda, pointing at the wall, and Vogel could feel it, too, could feel  _ Martin, _ so close, and he grabbed her hand and  _ ran— _

—Gripps shouted, knocking down a guard with their own gun— 

_ —PAIN— _

“Don’t let go,” said Amanda, and her eyes weren’t right again, the black in them spreading and spreading, until it was leaking out of her eyes like tears, and she wiped it away, splattering the blackness against the wall, and it  _ shimmered— _

_ —MANDA— _

“We’re coming for you,” whispered Amanda, and  _ yanked— _

The wall  _ crumbled, _ and Vogel shoved Amanda through it, close on her heels, and Cheep tumbled from her arms to the floor, twisting to land on her paws. Amanda yelped, tripping on Vogel’s boots, and Vogel had to lean back to keep them both from falling. 

“I got this,” said Amanda, regaining her balance and pulling her hand from his grasp, and Vogel let her go as she advanced on the two men in white coats, because he had other stuff to do. 

Like, run across the room and tackle the third white-coated man who was advancing on Martin —  _ Martin was alive Martin was alive _ — and throw the hypodermic needle the man was holding against the wall, hearing it smash. 

“Don’t  _ touch _ him!” yelled Vogel, his voice cracking, and leapt up from the man’s prone body to the metal apparatus Martin was strapped into, not unlike the coffin cages they were kept in. “Martin?!” 

“Little bird,” breathed Martin, and the last chunk of Vogel’s heart that had been missing slotted back into place. “Vogel—” 

“We’re busting you out, Boss,” said Vogel, grasping Martin’s arm. There was blood on the blonde Rowdy’s jumpsuit, blood at his mouth, but he jumped down to stand on his own feet when Vogel undid the straps holding him. “All of us.” 

A faint smile pulled at Martin’s bloodied lips. “Ah can see that, little bird.” He squinted. “Kinda.” 

“I found your glasses!” said Vogel, reaching for Martin’s arm again when the other man stumbled. “They were broken, though.” 

“Tha’s alrigh’.” Martin opened his mouth to say something else, and Vogel could feel the intention of words forming, but all he said was  _ “Oof!” _ as Amanda collided with him in a hug. “...Drummer.” 

“You’re okay?” she said, more of a question as he gingerly returned her embrace. Vogel could feel the little twinges of  _ pain pain pain _ that was his brother, and Cross and Gripps’s pains from the hallway as well. “They hurt you?” 

And Vogel could taste the  _ rage _ in their Boss, in the grasp of her small hands on Martin’s jumpsuit, in the gentleness of her hand as he leaned into her touch as she wiped some of the blood off of his cheek, right where it had dripped into his beard. 

“I’ll be alrigh’, Drummer,” said Martin softly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead, and Vogel made a face and turned back toward the hole in the wall they’d left in their wake. Rainbow popped into view, wielding an assault rifle like a baseball bat, and she waved cheerfully to him. 

“Dodge ram?” called Cross, a hint of  _ tired tired tired _ seeping into his voice, and then Martin and Amanda were right beside Vogel, hands clasped at their sides. 

“Yeah, we’re going,” Amanda called back, tapping Vogel’s shoulder — once, twice, a little bit of nervous energy as her eyes cleared of that weird blackness, finally.  _ “Boys!” _ she howled, and they were there, all of them, and she grinned. “Let’s get outta here.” 

None of them argued with that. 

The guards were no match for them, not for all of them, and Vogel carried Cheep on his shoulder  _ and _ Rapunzel under his arm, when the corgi didn’t want to stop biting a downed guard in the ankle. The Rowdies were  _ loud, _ and there were so many guards, but the black-suited soldiers only had guns, none of that awful smoke, and they weren’t stopped. 

They weren’t stopped— 

They crashed out the door into the parking area Vogel had left the van in, and— 

There was Priest. 

“Going somewhere, boys?” he crooned, hefting the smoke spitter that Vogel  _ hated, _ a grin on his torn face under the dried blood still stuck to his skin. “Hello, Martin.” 

“‘lo, Oz,” drawled Martin, tense at Vogel’s side, Amanda’s hand still gripping his. “Y’don’t wanna get in our way.” 

“This is where you belong, Marty. With your family.” 

“Ain’t no place f’r them here,” said Martin flatly, and he didn’t flinch when Priest’s hand twitched on the trigger of the smoke gun, just added, quietly, “I don’ wanna fight you, Oz.” 

“Then don’t fight me,” said Priest, his voice just as soft. “Surrender, Marty. We don’t have to fight, do we, brother?” 

And Vogel felt it, that  _ rage rage rage _ that surged up in Martin, held back behind the snarl at his teeth— 

“Nah,” said Amanda, and the  _ rage _ eased, slipping away under the squeeze of her hand. “I think we’re gonna leave, and you’re gonna let us.” 

“And why,” purred Priest, “do you think that?” 

“You sure?” whispered Amanda, or at least, that’s what Vogel  _ thought _ she whispered, and Martin  _ growled. _ “Yeah, okay.” And Amanda lifted her free hand, and then both her hands were free— 

Priest’s finger pressed down on the trigger— 

Amanda  _ yelled, _ taking a single step forward, and that bright blue light surged from her hands, flickering over —  _ from _ — the Rowdies at her sides— 

Martin lunged forward, ducking under the dissipating cloud of smoke from Priest’s canister, and barrelled shoulder first into Priest’s midsection, knocking aside the gun and toppling the other man to the floor. 

“Sorry, little brother,” said Martin, and opened his mouth— 

“Wait—” said Vogel, because that didn’t  _ work, _ he’d  _ tried— _

Pure white energy streamed up from Priest to Martin, and Priest screamed, thrashing under Martin’s grip, and the jolt of  _ painPAIN _ when his palm struck Martin’s injured shoulder was sharp enough that Vogel could taste the copperyness in his mouth. Martin fell back, scrambling to his feet, and Priest stayed sprawled on the tiled floor. 

“Martin—” said Amanda, and Priest began to laugh. 

“You always were a fool, Martin,” said the man, and Amanda moved to grab Martin’s hand, the two of them standing between Priest and the rest of the Rowdies. “You can’t even kill me—” 

“I don’t need to,” said Martin, and Amanda reached down, the white energy glowing where their hands were clasped and spreading down her other hand, arcing from her fingers, and— 

Priest slumped, limp, to the floor, the white light fading, and Amanda gasped, leaning against Martin, and he wrapped an arm around her to keep her upright. 

“Is he—” started Vogel, and Bart stalked forward, crouching down beside the prone form. 

“Nah, he’s breathin’,” she said, poking the man in the stomach, and he didn’t even twitch. “Whatcha do to him?” 

“Nothing he didn’t deserve,” said Amanda, and straightened, something steely in her eyes that was tougher than any crowbar Vogel could get his hands on. “You boys ready to roll?” 

The Rowdies crammed themselves into the van, Rainbow dragging Bart in with her by the hand and sticking her rosy sunglasses on Bart’s face when she appeared to have some trepidation about being squished onto a bench between two Rowdies and a Fluffernutter sprawling on her feet. 

Martin slid into the driver’s seat, and grimaced, bending down to jam the seat back a few more inches. “How was th’ drive, little bird?” he drawled, glancing at Vogel in the rear view mirror, and Vogel grinned. 

“You really gonna drive like that?” said Amanda, and Martin arched an eyebrow at her. “Dude, you don’t have your glasses.” 

“They’re in the box,” said Vogel, scooping up Finn from the floor of the van to keep her from being sat on by Cross as the taller Rowdy repositioned himself. Martin nodded, reaching for the glove compartment, and Amanda caught his hand when he winced. 

“Let me,” she said, in that softer voice that was reserved only for Martin, the one that was usually followed by something very soft and girlfriend/boyfriend nonsense they got up to, and Vogel made a face and skritched Finn behind the ears until she purred. 

Martin nodded, and Amanda squeezed past him as he slid over to the passenger side to take over the wheel. She grinned at him, hauling the seat forward again so her shorter legs could reach, and he snorted. 

Alarms began to wail, and Cross whooped loudly, his voice joined by Gripps’s and the dogs in barely an instant, and Martin huffed a laugh as Amanda cranked the engine over and sent the Oh No Mobile careening through the parking lot to the exit. 

Vogel fell backwards as the van rocked, landing on Gripps, and the other Rowdy hauled him up onto the bench next to him, warm and solid and still smelling of the stale air of Blackwing, but— 

Vogel smiled, leaning back against Gripps, listening to the pounding music and his brothers’ howls, seeing Amanda sneaking glances at Martin as he set his busted glasses on his nose, and the little, private smile he gave back to her, and Vogel’s smile widened as the van zoomed off down the road. 

Everything — every _ one _ — was right back where they should be. 


End file.
